Kill The Riddick
by Asia Ralaia Schiegoh
Summary: In the midst of the new LordMarshall's mourning over Kyra, Dame Vaako conspires to play puppeteer to Riddick's novice kingship. When she proposes her sister, Tamar, give him solace, it quickly escalates to a throne of bedlam, betrayal, and cold revenge.
1. I : FLAWLESS

_Now that Riddick has become Lord Marshall,_

_he's kept that which he's killed._

_But as his mourning for Kyra commences_

_he finds himself entangled in the glittering webs_

_of Dame Vaako and her enigmatic sister,_

_Dame Tamar._

**ONE: F L A W L E S S**

"It's been two weeks."

He glanced up from the desk, eyes blue with recognition. Vaako spoke nothing as his wife circled the perimeter of their bedchamber yet again. It hung with the bewitching allure of grays, blacks and droplets of purple, a dismal glamour befitting of any Necromonger nobility. Despite the relief of the last Lord Marshall's demise it was hardly in the fashion that could bring the couple any complete sense of solace. Riddick remained leader of the Necromonger empire, the Armada servile at his back. Even if none ever dared consider mutiny, it was doubtless they were too fearful of what a resistance would bring.

"Two weeks since his ascension. Two weeks of silence, of goddamn moping. He's been left to his grief, hasn't he? And still he does not come to his throne."

The naked silhouette of Dame Vaako paused in the midst of her rampage of thought, biting her full lip as she searched the tiled floor at her pedicured feet. "No court has been held. No new conversions made. Nothing!"

"Speak sense, woman," her husband sneered.

"What good is he as Lord Marshall when he refuses to do anything, Vaako? What must be done?" She nearly spat, turning to him. Finally she said, "It was supposed to be _flawless_."

Vaako sat upright from the desk, not hesitating in his moment of fury. "Goddamn you, woman! Leave it alone, I say!"

"So that we can let one more weakling take over for another? Is that what you envisioned for our faith, Vaako? Is that what you wa-?"

The brutal contact of his backhand to her pronounced cheekbone resonated within the gloomy opulence of their chamber. The dame fell back with near-silent gasp, grappling upon the bedposts as she stumbled. Again she sneered, spitting a wad of red to the floor. "You know," she began sweetly, hazel gaze fluttering mischievously to his. "If this is what you call attention, we're going to have to reassess this marriage. And we both know my siblings do not take kindly to your... 'hands-on' approach."

She straightened herself in standing, the pertinence of her petite, succulent breasts objecting as she lifted her arms to drape the billowy gown of gossamer over her body. It was one of her simpler dresses, dark in color as it cinched neatly just above her breastbone only to lighten in hues as it shrouded down to her feet. Sleeveless and absent of any hold, it left the assumption of her long, lean form to any stranger's imagination.

She could hear him behind her as she rounded to the dresser. Only at the sensation of his great hand upon the curve of a slender shoulder did she look up to the mirror upon the embossed wall, meeting his gaze with a bold reluctance. All they ever did was argue these days, amidst the ferocity of their lovemaking. It was love or hate. Neither could confess that either one proved to alleviate the terms of their relationship.

"I'm sorry." His tone remained low, though somewhat softened around the edges. She did not betray a smile; she knew he was not one for apologies of any sort. This was a gift. "Forgive me, wife. I... am not accustomed to us both being so angry all the time. You, perhaps, I can manage. But not us both." A kiss upon that curve, another against the contour of her neck. "We must learn to behave for when the children return tomorrow. I don't want them to see us like this."

The dame held her head in adamant agreement, clearing her throat as she reached for her hairpins. In swift yet unhurried motions she fashioned the long, thick braid of dark hair into a looped bun, doing her best to ignore the trail of kisses strewn upon her nearly-bare back. "They will be too pleased to see us to worry about how we behave, I'm sure. Now," she turned again, looking up at her husband. A veil of quiet hushed her tone, allowing the silken allure of her words to soften him even further. "I'm going to see just what can be done to rouse Riddick from his stupor. And from there, dear husband, we'll assess what needs to be done with _you_." She slipped from his grasp then, the serpent intent on the seduction of her prey.


	2. II : ONE SPEED

**TWO: O N E S P E E D**

"I hate to be the bearer of tough shit, but I don't have to do anything."

He reclined upon the lounge chair, drink in hand. It was a fancy little piece of furniture, actually; the shape adjusted in recognition of the Lord Marshal reclining on it, designed to fit against every lumbar in his spine to perfection. He had been laying about it in for most of his fourteen day reign, much to the seeming dismay of his commanders and generals. None of that bothered him. And while he knew he could continue to ignore their requests for his kingly attention, he was not certain how long he could do so without incurring some sort of issue.

Like, per say, mutiny.

Richard B. Riddick, the haphazardly-proclaimed Lord Marshal of the Necromongers, took in the sight of his Commander's wife. The dark, formless dress that hung from her breasts did not take to his eyes kindly; he preferred her metallic taste in fashion, the things that clung to that slender form like the paint to a vase. Dame Vaako was too thin for his preference- whatever that was- but every inch of body was beautiful from head to toe no less. For a flitting moment he wondered if Vaako knew how many men lusted after his wife.

She chuckled darkly, approaching the nearby window as if she did not see him seated some few feet to her side. Her gaze followed the view of randomized stars, the burning lights of them speckled in the depths of that black galaxy. She asked of him then, "Do you know how many of these belong to you, my lord?"

Riddick glanced at the liquor bottle in his hand. "What, this? I assumed it was as many as I could get my hands on."

"These planets," she corrected, almost as if she had been offended. Riddick exchanged glances with he slender beauty, silently wondering just how seriously these Necromongers took the business of their commanding and conquering. Just as quickly as she had snapped, however, the dame fell back into the lurid sweetness. "The worlds that had been conquered, six generations in the making. They are all yours now, you understand. Every effort from Covu to the late Zhylaw has brought you the expanse of three conquered galaxies; sixty-nine planets, to be exact."

"So much pride for a number that's hardly seventy."

"It all belongs to you now, my lord," she insisted, facing him full on. "And as your most faithful and obedient servant, I must wonder just what you plan to do with it. What more you plan to gain."

Riddick's luminescent gaze did not blink despite the slight elevation of his concern. "Gain, eh?"

She nodded, daring to sneak a most brazen smirk. "For the sake of all this faith stands for, what we as Necromongers embrace. The possession of courage and strength, of virility and valor. 'All these things we hold within our values, the basis of our existence'." Dame Vaako paused to sigh gently, the guise of pride veiling her gaze as it turned away once more. It seemed to be a verse of some sort. Her eyes fell to him with narrowed care as she went on, "The continuation of the line, as well, is of utmost importance. Especially with circumstances remaining so volatile."

"You mean kids."

The corrosive nature of her snickering did not go unnoticed, though she did not seem to have intended it be hidden. "Rather clever, for who was once a breeder. That's precisely what I mean."

"And what," he wondered casually in return, "Makes you think I'd want this oversized religious cluster-fuck cult of yours to gain anything at all, much less reproduce with anyone in it? Seems to me y'all got quite enough to worry about as it is." With a hearty swig the Lord Marshal leaned back further, allowing the lounging device to accommodate his position. "Not to mention I'm sure there are plenty who'd just love to take my place."

He didn't believe he imagined the prickling of her straightened spine, the dame's gaze fast on his as she stepped closer. "Like who?" she demanded.

Riddick shrugged, helping himself to another gulp. "That guy, Toals; he's one of the generals. Your husband, too, probably. I don't really give a fuck who, just that I know what's coveted. And it's very clear to me my space is wanted." Which, silently, he could not say he minded yet. It had been the first time in a long time- if ever- that someone coveted what he had.

He looked up at the dame again, this time inquiring, "What's your name?" Before she could speak he corrected, "The one your momma gave you."

She raised a brow. "Ylenda, if you must know. Dame Ylenda Vaako."

"Nice." A moment of swashing ensued, Riddick letting his head tilt back to fully consume the hard liquor.

"I cannot say for certain with General Toals," she started, coming behind him. With a steady, deliberate leisure she began to circle him, her lithe fingers leaving trails of her scent along the furniture. "But I speak for myself and my dear husband when I say there's no such greater desire than to further serve you."

"Like you did your last Marshal, eh?"

"There's so much potential within you. So much you know you possess- even what you cannot see, what lies within you, simply waiting to be brought under your control. Oh, my lord," Ylenda's voice dropped barely above a whisper as she slid into his lap, lithe arms encompassing his solid, somewhat stout neck. Riddick grew incredibly still at the sensation of her mouth brushing against his ear, closing his eyes so as to let his nose take in that delightful, nearly delicious aroma of her allure. So goddamn beautiful. "This is the dawn of a new era for all Necromongers. With you as a new breed of Lord Marshal, a new leader, there is nothing we aren't capable of doing. All things unattainable before are within our reach, now that a Furyan has the reigns. Goodness, and what a grip he has..."

There was no mistake that his hands had taken hold of her arms, but she was slicker. Her hot, lurid breath stung his suddenly needy senses, retracting his whisps of desire into conscious attention, though not before she stole herself the coarse temptation of his mouth against hers. Riddick would not admit how inflaming the zest of her essence struck him, how it left a most annoyingly exquisite tingle upon his mouth. His iridescent orbs watched vigilantly as she slipped away from him just as she had slipped upon him.

At the exchange of their glances, he briefly pondered how long it would take him to rid himself of the dark trousers before she could make it to the threshold. She must have known, the way her own gaze glittered with a wicked awareness. But her back was to him him, sepia shoulders rolling softly, subtly, without any intent to rush.

Ylenda let her hand fall to the stone sensor upon the wall, the great glass doors sliding open with deliberate ease. "When we disembark on Lunaris Prime in the afternoon," she started simply, back still to him. "My brother and sister will arrive with my children. With them to occupy Vaako, I'll be better suited to... _counsel_ you." Riddick set the bottle down at the sight of the profile she graced him with. "We've much to discuss, don't you agree?"

He chose not to speak right away. The temptation of his loins was not unbearable, though it did hinder his clarity; which he loathed. Better she were to leave, until things that needed answering could take importance. Just what those things were he did not rightly know- not yet- but when he found out, he would make a point to try and give a damn.

And then: "My faithful and obedient servant?"

She smirked, nodding.

"And you're sure about that?"

"Loyalty and obedience without question." She stepped out, releasing her palm from the glass door. As it slid down, he barely heard her finish, "Til UnderVerse come."


End file.
